


Old Habits Die Hard

by youalreadydid



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Post-Split, Post-Split Panic! at the Disco, Ryden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-08-06 14:52:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16389785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youalreadydid/pseuds/youalreadydid
Summary: There has to be more than one way to banish your ghosts. One day, we'll forget all about each other, one day, it won't hurt this bad. Right? (Previously "Finding Ways to Forget")





	1. Dreams & Ghosts

     Sunlight streams through the thin hotel curtains right into my eyes, a small groan escaping my lips in protest. I attempt to roll over but a warm body pressed into my hip stops me from going very far. His nose is pressed against my collarbone, his hand lays protectively on my chest and he stirs slightly.

"Sorry," I whisper, my voice scratchy but he says nothing, only pressing a dry kiss to the hollow of my throat. My breath catches in my throat and I can feel his fingers curving their way around the back of my neck. He hums in content and begins to lift his eyes to look up at me, and I wake up.

     My throat feels tight and I feel sick, so disgustingly sick as I sit up, wiping away the wetness on my cheeks. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Months after his departure the dreams haven't stopped and neither has the feeling of nausea when his honey brown eyes cross my thoughts. I swing my legs over the edge of my bed, the bed that's too big for just me, the bed that spans for miles and miles, cold and void of Ry-

I swallow thickly and push the thought away. Standing, I feel uneasy on my legs and my body sways as I straighten. Push the thought far, far back as trudge into my bathoom,turning the shower handle to hot and letting the room fill with steam. I slip my shirt over my head-don't think of his hands pressing into my hips, tugging at my shirt-pull my boxers off-ignoring the trace of his fingers over my hipbone- and step into the shower. Hot water burns its way down my shoulders, down my back and it replaces the ghost of his fingertips. Most days since he left have been the same, waking up with dreams of him, they're all different. Some are more real than others, some being only a blurred figure of him or his voice soft in my ear, but they all hurt the same. It's the same routine, shower and try to forget. Push his memory down, down, down. Let it wash down the drain with the water but somehow it always finds its way back to me. As I stand under the water I remember his silhouette leaning against the doorway, his hair curling wildly over his ears, sticking out in weird places and his bony hip pressed into the door frame. I shake my head, wet strands whipping against my forehead. I stand until the water runs cold.

     I find myself standing in a ratted, dull pair of sweatpants, facing the rest of my painfully empty apartment. I try to forget why the emptiness is painful. I don't miss him. I don't, I won't, I can't. I can't let myself because if I do it'll burn me up from the inside out. He made his choice. Right? My feet hit the cold tile of my kitchen-ignore his ghost sitting on my kitchen counter, smirking at me-I make my way to the coffeemaker, ignore his ghost pulling me between his legs, brushing his lips over mine and kissing me slowly. His ghost tracing my ribs through my shirt, hands roaming wherever they please. The tears begin to make their way from my eyes as my hands shake around the coffee mug. Suddenly, I don't want that coffee as much as I thought I did. His ghost continues to kiss me, hand sliding over my shoulder blades, my spine and the tears keep their steady stream. I lean into the ghost of his touch, breathing out softly against his lips,

"Ryan.."-or maybe it's just a version of me-and the real me sinks to the floor. I push my face in my hands and his ghost dissappears, just like him. I sit there until the tears stop and when I allow myself to stand, I finally make my coffee. It's bitter when it connects with my tongue and I still don't want it but I continue to drink it, thinking that this bitter taste will wash his out of my mouth. I'm making my way without him.

Maybe I can live on, maybe one day I won't feel heavy at his memory, maybe I'll find more ways to forget. I will, I will, I can live without him. Can't I?


	2. The Other Half

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to try to switch into each of their perspectives instead of keeping it at just one, that's why this chapter is a little different.

     Ryan Ross was not in the habit of frequenting small bars around the L.A area. Descending the stairs into the dark room, it just happened to be coincidence that the bartender recognized him. Ryan slipped onto a barstool as the bartender attempted to start a conversation, leaning forward on the bar.

"What's the matter, man?" he asked when I didn't engage in his conversation. The bartender was cute, young, and nosy apparently. I smile thinly at the blue eyes staring before me, "2009's been a weird year, man." He raises his eyebrows and returns a genuine smile back at me,

"Oh, you're telling me..." and launched into a spiel I couldn't bother to listen to. I scanned the room, only finding a few men scattered about the room, which smelt of stale liquor.

"...anyways, man, how's your band?"

 

     My eyes shoot back to him and the smile still plastered his face, it made my stomach curl.

"Don't have one." I shrug, dropping my eyes to a shredded straw wrapper that made my stomach curl even harder.

"You don't?" I keep my eyes down and try to shake the image of Brendon shredding anything he can get his hands on at a restaurant table, "Huh," I lift my eyes again and he looks sympathetic.

"Can I just get a beer, man?" I sigh, I think he realizes he actually has a job to do as he looks startled when he rushes off.

 

    I drum my fingers against the table anxiously, I came to this fucking bar to get away from thinking about Brendon just to have a pretty bartender bring him up again. Being locked in my house didn’t help me forget him and I don’t know why I though a dingy bar would do what my house couldn’t. It hasn’t felt the same there without Brendon bouncing off the walls, playing my piano at four in the morning.

“Here you go.” A beer bottle slides into my line of sight, the bartender still smiley as ever.

“Thanks.” I attempt another smile and slip off into an empty booth in an attempt to avoid talking to him again.

 

     The booth is just as dingy as the rest of the bar, a full ashtray resting at its edge. The beer is cool as it slips past my lips and I wrinkle my nose when I taste it. I’ve never had a taste for beer, but Brendon found a liking for it, so I continue to order it without even thinking about it, not realizing he isn’t around to drink the rest when I don’t finish it. I set the bottle down and pull my phone out of my pocket, setting it down on the expanse of empty table before me. I only stare at it, his number is memorized but I can never bring myself to punch it in and press call. I unlock it and press the phone icon, opening the keypad and punching in the numbers. I continue to stare, thumb hovering over the call button. This is as far as I’ve gotten in these last couple months, maybe things can change. Maybe we can fix this. The shitty bar speakers start playing Mr. Brightside, I turn off my phone and step out of the booth. Trudging up the stairs and back into the stale air of the city, maybe things aren’t meant to change.


	3. Borrowed Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perpective is switched halfway through, this is a flashback. Also if there's typos, I'm sorry I wrote this chapter at almost 1 am.

**August 30th, 2007**

     I am completely whipped. I stare at the blonde hair peeking out from the white hotel comforter and I wonder what the hell got me to this point. She’ll wake up tomorrow morning and I won’t be here, I’ll be asleep next to a boy whose presence puts that party to shame. A boy I’m trying extremely hard to tell myself I’m not in love with, because I’m not. I’m not leaving my girlfriend who threw me an extravagant birthday party in New York City for a small hotel room in Seattle for a boy I’m in love with. I’m not. I shoulder my backpack, leave the hotel room key on the nightstand and try to think about how I would trade anything I’d been given today just to be with him in a rainy city. 

 

     I exist in a sort of trance until the middle of the flight. My hands start to shake slightly when I look down at the boarding pass, the word  _Seattle_ staring me in the face. I just dropped everything. I literally only have a backpack and my phone with me, all for him. It feels like I do everything all for him these days. But I’m not in love with him, I have a girlfriend. A girlfriend who I just left for Brendon in a Seattle café, waiting for me. Fuck. This, him and I, us,  _we_  are never going to work, and I know that. As much as I ache thinking about letting him go, I know. That’s why I can’t let myself fall in love with him. I don’t want to hurt him, but I think I’ve already done that by giving in to his little touches, his soft kisses. By dropping everything and hopping on a last-minute flight only for him. Fuck. 

 

     The rest of the flight and the cab ride from the airport passes in a blur of adrenaline. When the cab drives off, I’m standing on the other side of a street facing a brightly lit café. There’s a light drizzle surrounding me, and I can see him hunched over in a booth through the window. His grey hood is falling slightly off his bowed head and his hands are working at something I can’t see when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text from the man I’m staring at:

 _Bren_  

 _hope u_ _didnt_ _forget_ _abt_ _me_  

 I laugh to myself as I pocket the phone because how could I ever forget about him. 

 

 

     There is ripped straw wrappers and napkins clumped into a pile near the edge of the table and a slight air of disappointment when the bell over the door rings and it’s not him. The text I sent went through, so he must be off the flight, if he ever even got on it. Him agreeing to hop a flight to Seattle in the middle of the night seemed out of place anyways so the fact that I’m sitting here filled with hope feels like a fever dream. I reach for another napkin and roll the corner through my thumb and fore-finger. I feel a little silly sitting here and my hope diminishes every time the bell dings and it isn’t him. I’ve willed myself to not break my neck looking every time I hear the bell jingle and that hasn’t made my nerves settle. Maybe he didn’t come. He probably sent the text and then realized what a shitty idea it was, he is more rational than I am. I just wanted to see him, it is his birthday after all.  

     “Will you quit that, you’ve already got a pile started over here.”

My head shoots up and Ryan is sitting right in front of me, with that stupid smirk of his. His damp hair curls over the ridiculous headband he's wearing and how the hell did I not notice him when he’s the only reason I’m here? I feel the grin nearly split my face in half and I drop the napkin, his smirk morphing to a bright smile. “Hi,” is all I can get out as I reach my hand over to rest onto his, his long fingers tangling into mine. He dips his head down to look at our hands, to hide his smile and I wish he wouldn’t do that shit. I want to see him smile, teeth and all. His smile, his real, genuine smile, his smile that only I get, is all I want to see.

He looks up and his brown eyes shine, “Hey.” 

 

      We can’t stay off each other when the hotel door closes. I close the door and when I turn around, he’s there with his fingers pressed into my hips and my body feels like it’s on fire. His lips brush against mine as he speaks,

“I missed you, y’know.” and this is all I wanted.

“Yeah,” I breathe, leaning forward and catching his bottom lip between mine.

The kiss isn’t rushed, we know it’s only us. It’s only us in this whole city and this is our time. There is no tour manager, no band members to break down our door. But our time is borrowed as much as I ignore it. He pulls me forward, kissing me slow, taking his time. There are only hours until she wakes up alone in New York and Ryan is laying with me. I don’t care. Tonight, he is mine. My fingers trace the beginning of his spine, the back of his neck. He tugs at my jacket and everything is too hot. I break away only to pull off my jacket, taking my shirt with it. Cold air hits my bare chest but his hands are warm and all over me. I tug off his vest and work my fingers over the buttons of his shirt, his thin fingers pressing into my hips, roaming over my lower back. His lips make their way to my neck and I press my palms against the expanse of skin I can feel beneath his unbuttoned shirt. He sits at the end of the bed, pulling me forward and I sit in his lap. He looks at me, his tongue darting out over his kiss-swollen bottom lip and I can barely breathe.

“Happy birthday.” I manage, leaning my forehead onto his. His Brendon-reserved smile returns. Tonight, I am his.


	4. Bad Ideas

     I don’t want to move. I’m perfectly content with the stillness of my apartment, really. It’s not killing me to see his ghost sit upon my furniture, replaying memories I’d rather forget every day. It’s fine. Except, Spencer won’t allow that. He barreled into my apartment at 7:30 am and decided to throw open my curtains.

“Wake up.” He spoke simply, something I’ve always appreciated with Spencer. I found it kind of funny he assumed I’d slept through the night. I let myself groan and roll over, pulling the thin blankets over my eyes to block out the light.

“Up! Come on,” he tugs the covers down and I squint up at him. It pisses me off that he looks so put together at seven in the goddamn morning. “Get your ass out of this bed and brush your teeth. Please.” he mumbles the end of his sentence and pulls on my arm.

“Okay, okay! I’m going.” I grumble and he smiles. 

 

     “Bren, it’s been months.” he says sympathetically, and I cringe.

Spencer somehow got me out of my hole of an apartment and to a small breakfast spot on the street down from my place. I pick absently at my eggs with my fork and ignore him. Maybe if I ignore the sympathy in his tone, I can forget how much of a mess I must be. A five o’clock shadow has appeared on my face and I didn’t bother to flatten my hair before we left, so it’s sticking out in the back. He sighs loudly and pulls my plate forward, away from me. I look up at him, his face has an expression painted with pity, and I hate it. “I know.” my voice comes out softer than I meant it to and somehow still found a way to break.

“Why don’t you try and talk to him at least?” I shake my head, leaning back into the seat. No. No, bad idea. He sighs again and rubs the side of his face. “I hate seeing you like this, man. There has to be a reason he did what he did.”  

     “He broke up with me,” I say flatly, “You can say it.” I cross my arms and stare down at the table. He broke up with me. Maybe what we were was confusing but we wanted each other, at least I thought we did. But he still broke up with me. He sure did, he told me it wasn’t going to work, in a dressing room after our last show of the tour. I wanted to tell him I loved him, I wanted to kiss him and hold onto him and tell him no, he couldn’t, we aren’t supposed to end like this. But I didn’t, it felt like I’d just been stabbed, and I couldn’t say anything. 

 

_My blood feels cold, it feels_   _really cold_   _in here. I breathe out shakily and stare up at him through watery eyes. He says something_ _else_ _but I can’t hear him, I can only focus on his equally watery eyes. If he doesn’t want this either, why is he doing this to us? What goes through this fucking boys head? I want him, why can’t he understand that? He’s grabbing his things from the counter, his back to me. Why? I can see him wiping away tears in the mirror and I just want to shake him. Tell him to stop, baby, please. I can’t move. I watch him leave me and I feel like I’m suffocating._

_“Fuck!” I scream, shutting the adjoining bathroom door. I don’t know how long I sit there under the counter, huddled with my knees to my chest, sobbing, until Spencer finds me._  

 

     “-sure he would want to hear from you again.”

 Spencer’s voice cuts me out of the memory, the nightmare, and I look back up from where my eyes had fixed themselves on the table. He looks shocked, reaching for a napkin and suddenly my cheeks feel wet. I breathe out and wipe helplessly at my face, leaving Spencer to scramble to pay for the check.

“Can we leave?” my voice comes out brittle and I try to focus on breathing. He nods, I frantically run from the booth, pushing through the families clumped near the door. I don’t care. Spencer’s leather seats are hot from the weather and the car is stifling but I can breathe better on my own. We drive home in silence.


	5. Happy New Year (1)

"Fuck off, Jon."

I drag my hand down the side of my face, leaning against the doorway to my bathroom. I'd barely gotten out of the shower when Jon slammed open my  bedroom door and started rummaging through my drawers. I watch as Jon sets out clothes on my bed and I tighten the towel around my waist, feeling my wet hair drip down my back. "You really need to clean this fucking apartment." Jon mumbles, throwing a pair of boots at the end of my bed, completely ignoring me.

"You’re going to this New Year’s party, Ryan." And with that, he shuts my bedroom door and leaves me standing alone. 

  
  
The clothes Jon picked out actually end up looking nice, thankfully. Black jeans, brown boots, a black button up. I appreciate the fact that even if he's pissed at me, he still picked out something that looked decent. This doesn't change the fact that I'm still pissed, kind of sad, and cold as hell, walking down a busy street in LA with my hands shoved into my coat pockets. Jon is walking ahead of me, hand in hand with Cassie and it brings up memories of last New Year's I'd rather forget.

  
  
_ "Come on, Ryan,  we're gonna miss it!" _

_Brendon grabs my hand, weaving through the people scattered around the hotel room and drags me behind him. He 's a mess of a boy, his shirt half unbuttoned and his jacket hanging off one shoulder. I wonder if he's  drunk but remembering the kiss I stole only twenty minutes before, I tasted no alcohol on his lips._

_"Where are we going?" I yell over the music , but he doesn' t hear me, pushing his way out of the door and into the hall that's somehow still full of people._

_"Bren, where are we going?" I ask again, jogging up beside him as we turn a corner and start up the stairs. He hasn’t let go of my hand, his fingers laced into my own, making mine less cold. It makes me smile. I get a glimpse of the sign before we make our way up and he throws open the door to a rooftop crowded with people. He beams up at me and tugs me to the edge, pulling at my arms. I laugh and wind my arms around his waist when the people around us start the countdown. He moves his hands up my chest, one resting on the back of my neck and one on the side of my face, _

_"Happy New Year." He whispers, and I pull back a little._

_ "But there' s people-" I start but he scoffs,  _

_"Everyone here is shitfaced." I breathe out and close my eyes as the people around us finish the countdown, his lips finding mine in the chaos. I kiss him hard because I can, and this is the best start of 2009 that I could get.  _ __   


  
I swallow the bile rising in my throat and dig my nails into my palms, looking anywhere but Jon and Cassie. I have no fucking idea where we  are  but I didn’t really have any choice to not go, either way my New Year’s kiss will be with some form of alcohol.  It feels like we’ve been walking forever since we got out of the cab. Ahead of me, I watch Jon open the door to a building for Cassie and glance back at me to hurry up. I jog up to the door and make my way inside, a quite fancy lobby greeting me. Jon pats my shoulder, moving back ahead of me and up the stairs. This is going to be a long night.

  
  
I weave my way through the crowd, desperate to find a spot that isn’t full of couples with their tongues shoved down each other's throats. I clutch desperately onto my Smirnoff bottle as I navigate through the dark room, pushing my hair off my forehead. Why did Jon drag me to this party knowing damn well that he'd disappear with Cassie within not even ten minutes of being here? Finally, I make my way to the edge of the room, facing a wall of windows and a deserted balcony. The countdown starts behind me and I scan the wall for the door urgently, finding it blending it with the windows. My hand finds the cool doorknob and I yank it open, cold air hiting my face and I breathe out. I guess it's empty since the glass door camouflaged itself with the windows but I'm not complaining. I lean forward onto the edge of the balcony that wraps along the entire top floor of the building and maybe it's only my side that’s abandoned. The countdown seeps through onto the balcony from inside where the mass of people start on five. Staring out into the city skyline, I breathe out and try to forget where I was this time last year, who's hands were pressed warm into my neck.

"Happy New Year." I say to no one, and I lift the bottle to my lips.


	6. Drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day, look at me go. I had an idea for another flashback and wrote it out as soon as I finished the other chapter, so here it is.

      **2004**

 

      Practice ended twenty minutes ago. I’m sitting on the couch pushed against the garage wall, watching Ryan tune his guitar on the floor in front of me. Spencer and Brent left as soon as practice ended but Ryan offered me a ride home. I still haven’t figured this boy out and it’s frustrating me. What’s also frustrating me is the fact that I seem to get very flustered whenever he tries to talk to me, which as of right now, isn’t very often. Maybe it’s because he’s a bit intimidating, but Spencer and I get along pretty well, and I can talk to him without stumbling over my words. Ryan’s also a bit of a diva but I can deal with that. The fact that Ryan and I don’t usually talk made me confused as to why he’s the one who offered me a ride home instead of Spencer, or even Brent. My guitar case is sitting on the floor at my feet and I watch Ryans thin fingers move over the strings, now trying to remember the riff from the new song we’d practiced today. He’d fumbled the notes during practice and is now working through them again, his eyebrows knitted in concentration. I don’t mean to stare, really I don’t, but I do and he catches me. He looks up through his eyelashes, smiling at me for once. I smile back, drumming my fingers over my knee.

“Oh shit, I need to take you home! I must have lost track of time.” I like his voice. It’s very quiet and a little monotone but I like it. He gets up, setting his guitar on the couch next to me and picks up my case from the floor.

“You ready?” He asks, and I nod. 

 

     So maybe he’s kind of pretty. Are boys allowed to be pretty? I watch him from the passenger seat, his hand on the back of my seat and his body turned as he backs out of his driveway. The sun illuminates the side of his face from behind him, his full bottom lip caught between his teeth. I drum my fingers against the bottom of the window, not able to keep still and look forward so I don’t keep staring. He probably thinks I’m fucking weird, staring at him.

“My CD book is under your seat, you can put one in.” I jump, his voice filling the stillness of the car. He laughs and I reach under the seat, pulling out the large CD book. I flip through the pages, deciding on a Blink 182 CD and hand it to Ryan. His fingers slip over mine when he takes it from me and I wonder why I even noticed that in the first place. Music fills the car and I watch the way he drives, not noticing him glancing over at me.

“So, why’d you pick this album?” he asks and I’m startled by the fact that he’s asking me something outside of practice. He seems to notice and says, “Just a question man, we don’t really talk all that much.” He glances at me again, then focuses his eyes on the road and I begin to answer. We talk the whole car ride about anything I can think of, occasionally stopping so I can tell him where to turn. 

 

    When we pull up to my house, I’m disappointed. He raises his eyebrows when he pulls into my driveway and puts the car in park.

“Nice place,” he says, turning to me. I smile at him, and I’m filled with a stupid amount of joy when he smiles back. I shrug and unbuckle my seatbelt, reaching for the door.

“Do you want to um hang out, tomorrow, maybe?” He blurts out as I open the door and I raise my eyebrows at him.

“I mean, we just don’t really hang out as much as, y’know, the other guys.” He rubs the back of his neck and he can write a great song but boy, does he fumble over his words. “Sure.” I shrug and he smiles sheepishly at me.

“Alright, cool. I’ll call you, I guess.” He says and I get out of the car, feeling like I just set up a date. I open his backseat and take out my guitar case, finding him still looking at me.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I say and he smiles as I shut the door. As I walk up to my door, I feel weird. I turn to watch the way he backs out of my driveway and realize that I’m totally fucked.


	7. Happy New Year (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter that is really short, my apologies!

     It’s dark as hell in here and I don’t know where Spencer ran off to. I agreed to come so I could hang out with Spencer, not sit alone on a barstool with my beer. There’s no one at this New Year’s party that I know but I think I saw Jon and Cassie dancing in the crowd earlier. Last New Year’s was better, as painful as it is to remember and I’m trying my best to not mope over it when I could be having fun. I sip my beer, feeling a little tipsy and push off the barstool. I’m drunk enough not to care so I join the crowd of strangers and dance to the music playing through the speakers. A girl with bright eyes and blonde hair joins me and for the first time in months, I let myself forget about Ryan. I’m finally feeling okay enough to have fun and maybe this New Year’s will turn out alright, I mean, this is better than sitting in my apartment drinking beer by myself. Everything seems to be working out when I hear a small “Excuse me!” and someone is moving their way through the crowd.

I turn my head to see dark curly hair weaving through and my heart catches in my throat. I can see his tattoo peeking through the sleeve of his jacket, his long fingers curved around a small bottle of vodka, it’s definitely him. Oh, fuck this. Out of all the places he could’ve been tonight? I move without thinking, watching his head as I move my way through the crowd. The countdown starts behind me and I watch as he ducks through a doorway that leads outside. I stop at the edge of the crowd, staring at his skinny frame hunched over in his coat. I feel nauseous, my body swaying slightly as I shift my weight from each foot. Do I go out there? Does he even want to see me? Is he upset with me at all, the way I am with him or did he just plan to disappear out of my life forever? I stand there debating whether or not I want to go out there, and I don’t know how long I stand there, tossing my beer bottle between each hand.

     The crowd has gone back to dancing, couples kissing with their arms thrown around each other. As I stare at his back, I wish we could’ve been like that. Dancing, kissing, without anyone to judge us. Just being together and not having to sneak around. Last New Year’s, it felt like maybe we could’ve changed it. The kiss felt like an illusion, an illusion that we could be together in front of everyone. He kissed me, in front of all those people, because I asked him to. Maybe if I’d just asked him one more time, we could’ve been together tonight. Dancing and kissing among the rest of these people, but we’re not. We’re here, him leaning into the balcony and me staring at him through a window. I wouldn’t change the fact that I got to have him the way I had him. I just wish we could’ve been different.

     I can’t take my eyes off of him, as much as I want to just turn around and forget about him for the night. He seems to notice this as he turns around and I freeze, his eyes meeting mine. His mouth drops open and then closes again and neither of us moves.

“Shit.” I breathe out and quickly turn my back, running back into the crowd. I knock back the rest of my beer and wipe at the hot tears starting their way down my cheeks. When I reach the bar, I order another beer with my head down. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t want to see him again and I definitely didn’t want him to find me at this party. The beer bottle is handed over to me and I ask for another as I start to drink it. I don’t plan on remembering this in the morning. I turn my head a bit and I can see him talking to Jon, looking distressed. His hair curls wildly over his ears and a bit down the back of his neck, something he never allowed the last I saw him. My vision blurs and I wipe the tears from my eyes. I turn back to my beer and ignore it, hoping to God he won’t see me again.


	8. Happy New Year (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty long but I enjoyed writing it! I went on a writing kick at about 5:30 pm yesterday and didn't stop until just now (almost 1 am) and I was too excited not to post all the chapters I'd written. I wrote four chapters and I'm most proud of this one. I hope you enjoy!

     “I’m telling you, Jon, I saw him! He was here!” I try to explain, probably looking like a crazy person as I gesture around with my hands.

“Dude, just calm down, alright?” is all I get from Jon and I huff, pushing my fingers through my hair. “Why would he even be here?” Jon asks, looking visibly concerned.

“I don’t know, Jon. I didn’t want to come to this party, so I don’t know who’s even here.” I feel like crying but I force myself to suck it up as Jon sighs at me.

“Are you going to try to talk to him or something?” he asks me, and I try to say something but stumble. I sigh in frustration and try again,

“He probably wants nothing to do with me.” Jon raises his eyebrows at me,

“So, what I’m hearing is probably.” I roll my eyes but I nod my head in agreement.

“He probably ran out to get away from me.” I pout, and Jon rubs my shoulder.

“Just try and talk to him, dude. He might be pissed but maybe you can fix this.” I scoff but nod anyways, pulling at the collar of my coat. Jon smiles and walks off, probably to find Cassie and I start my search around the building. 

 

     It’s maybe been two and a half hours since I began looking, starting in the lobby and I still haven’t found him. This building has too many fucking floors I decide, huffing my way back up the stairs to where I first found him. The room is starting to empty out, but it still has a good amount of people filling up the space. The music is quieter than when I left, I scan the room but to no avail. What would I even say to him? “Hey, sorry I broke up with you. I may or not miss the hell out of you, oh yeah, and I may or not kind of, I don’t know, be in love with you? Just a thought.” I laugh at myself and head for the bar, deciding maybe he just doesn’t want to be found. The man beside me sips a beer and I order another Smirnoff, suddenly remembering the one I abandoned on the balcony.

“It’s been a _long_  night, man.” The guy speaks, and I freeze, looking over at him. Brendon smirks at me and then laughs to himself. “Oh shit, I’ve been trying to hide this whole fucking night. But here you are.” He laughs again, I feel like I can’t breathe.

“Who-” I try but it catches in my throat. I swallow hard and try again, “Who’d you come with tonight?” I ask quietly, and he leans toward me.

“Spence, but I don’t know where he is.” He slurs, and I realize that he’s fucking shitfaced. I can’t just leave him here, can I?

“Come on.” I sigh, and I stand up, leaving the bartender the money for the vodka I won’t drink. Yes, I can leave him, but will I?

“Come on?” he asks as he pushes off the bar to stand. I sigh,

“Yeah, I’m taking you home.” I won’t leave him here. 

 

     The walk out of the building was difficult enough, with Brendon giggling and leaning against me. I pulled my coat off somewhere in the walk down the stairs because every time he touched me, I felt a wave of heat hit me.

“You’re a fucking mess.” I mumble, holding Brendon up as he laughs, leaning his forehead onto my shoulder.

“Just for you, babe.” he giggles and I’m regretting my decisions.

“How many beers did you drink?” I ask as I guide him out onto the streets of LA, and he sways away from my grip.

“I had lots of beer.” He says proudly and starts to giggle uselessly once more.

“Alright.” I say, holding onto his arm again and I try to get us a taxi. When I finally flag one down, I push Brendon in next to me and give the driver his address. We speed off and Brendon leans onto my shoulder, his fingers tracing over my knuckles. My breath hitches and he laughs again, pressing his forehead into my bony shoulder. I push his hair off of his forehead and I know I shouldn’t let him do this. He’s drunk as hell, and all I wanted to do was just get him home, but I missed him. I know he wouldn’t do this sober, he probably wouldn’t have even said a word to me, but I can’t seem to find the will to push him off me. His fingers tangle into mine and I let him, feeling him shift so his chin rests against my shoulder. I turn, seeing him looking up at me through his eyelashes and he smiles.

“Hey.” he says, and I smile sadly at him,

“Hey.” I whisper back. 

 

     Thank God Brendon’s apartment building has an elevator. He can barely walk straight as I lead him into the building and he now leans into me as we stand in the elevator. “Why’d you do that to me?” He asks suddenly, and he’s never been able to keep his mouth shut when he’s drunk.

“Do what?” I ask, avoiding the topic.

“You broke up with me. Come  _on_ , Ryan, you can’t just forget.” he pouts, now leaning into the far wall of the elevator, away from me.

“I don’t know.” I lie, and he pouts harder, opening his mouth to speak, but the elevator doors opening saves me. I walk out, knowing Brendon’s following me because he’s got more to say and when he’s like this, he’ll be damned if you won’t let him say it.

“You’re lying.” he says behind me and I speed up. “Ryan!” he yells, and I spin around to face him. He’s got tears in his eyes and my heart hurts, but I ignore it.

“Give me your keys.” I say quietly but he pouts and steps away from me. “Brendon,” I start but he shakes his head and crosses his arms.

“Tell me.” he whispers and I sigh, pulling him forward by his hips. He gasps, and I slide my hands over his back, dipping my fingers into his back pocket and pulling out his keys. I take my hands away from his hips, ignoring the impulse to pull him in, and turn my back to him, unlocking his apartment door. “Hey!” he grabs at my shoulders, but I push open the door to his apartment, reaching back and pulling him in after me. 

     I hear him shut the door as I start to walk away from him towards the kitchen, but he pulls at my shoulders, turning me around. “Tell me!” he cries, tears running down his face.

“Just fucking tell me, you goddamn coward!” he shouts at me, pushing me in the chest. My heart fucking hurts and I pull him into me, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He sobs, and I can feel his tears soaking into my shirt, his hands grabbing the fabric around my shoulders.

“I fucking hate you. You broke my heart, you fucking asshole.” he sobs into my shirt and I hold him tighter, tears blurring my vision. I hold him until he stops shaking and he pushes away from me, wiping roughly at his eyes. I keep my mouth shut, turning away from him to get him a glass of water, knowing he’ll be hungover in the morning.

“I was scared.” I say, handing him the glass of water. He takes it from me, looking confused and I tell myself that he won’t remember this in the morning.

“I was afraid of how you made me feel, I was afraid of losing you, ruining us. I was falling in love with you, so I thought it would hurt less to lose you then instead of later. I was wrong. I was really, really wrong.” I laugh and shove my hands into my pockets. He stares at me with hurt in his red rimmed eyes, sipping his water. He turns away from me and sets it on the counter behind him, setting his hands on the edge and leaning into it.

“I was in love with you.” he says simply, and I figure that’s all I’m going to get.

“Let’s get you to bed.” I whisper, and I walk down the hallway, away from him. 

 

     I rummage through his bathroom cabinets until I find the Advil. I walk back into his room and I set it on his bedside table as he watches me from where he’s sat on the bed. His room is a mess, blankets thrown all over the bed, some littering the floor. Empty water bottles and boxes of takeout cover his dresser and bedside table. I sit in front of him and start to untie his boots for him, pulling them off and setting them next to the bed. I stand, pushing his coat off his shoulders.

“Go to sleep.” I whisper and start to walk out.

“Will you stay?” he asks, and I turn at his doorway. He pushes himself up on his elbows, his hair already a mess from the pillow, the lights peeking through the curtains washing him in a pale yellow, and I want to. I really want to.

“I can’t.” I say sadly, and he lays back down onto his bed. I walk back into the kitchen, refilling the glass of water and walk back into the room. He’s already asleep, his arm thrown up around the pillow and I set the glass next to the Advil. I want to stay, hold him while he sleeps and help him through his hangover in the morning, but I know when he sobers up, he won’t want me here. Instead, I gently push him onto his side in case he pukes and gather the trash from his room. I dump it all into his trashcan and find a notepad that’s set on his kitchen counter. I scribble on it and take one last look down the hall at his door. I want to stay. I walk out the door, locking it behind me.


	9. Tragic Cigarettes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switched perspectives halfway through, also this is one of the dirtiest chapters so far (it's not fully nsfw, I promise) but it's something new so bear with me!

**March 2007**

 

     The slamming door echoes down the stairs, causing me to wince. Jon huffs from his spot on the kitchen counter and nudges me with his foot. I turn,

“Go fix this.” he sighs, and I guess I look confused because he stares at me in disbelief.

“What do you mean, “go fix this?”, I’m not his issue.” I scoff.

“Oh please,” Spencer interjects, coming from the kitchen table and I really don’t know why they both seem to think I’m the reason Ryan is so upset, I barely said a word to him before he blew up on us. “Go on.” Spencer nods his head towards the stairs and I roll my eyes but head up anyways.  

     Ryan is sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands and there’s a tug at my heart. I hate seeing him upset. I nudge the door open a bit wider and it squeaks, causing Ryan to jerk his head up.

“Just me.” I whisper, and his expression softens, nothing anyone else would notice but I know him better than just anyone else.

“I think I’m going crazy,” he mumbles, and I cock my head to the side. “I don’t think I can keep doing this.” he breathes out and I push my side into the doorway,

“You don’t have to keep writing all the time, Ry. You’re allowed to have a break.” I can barely end my sentence when he laughs, actually  _laughs_  at me. I raise my eyebrows and he stands,

“No, not the album, I swear Brendon you’re so dense sometimes.” I don’t have the time to offended because he continues, “I mean _this,_ ” he gestures wildly between the two of us, “I can’t keep pretending this didn’t happen.” The boy can write but he sure is bad at talking about his feelings. I lean forward off the doorway and he sighs in frustration, stepping closer to me. “Fuck everything I said before, I can’t do this. She doesn’t even love me,” he laughs and shakes his head but continues on, “I can’t keep sitting around here and not being able to kiss you or anything and I don’t want to do that anymore, listen, I don’t know how I feel but I just  _can’t_ -” 

     “Ryan shut the fuck up.” I cut him off and grab his face, our lips bruising together, making my knees nearly give out.  His hands grab onto me, holding me up but we’re really only supporting each other. I respected what he wanted for as long as I could, him wanting us to stop whatever it is we were doing before it got too deep. It feels too late for that, too late to let each other go when we’ve had each other the way we have. It obviously isn’t what either of us wants. I’ve missed him. I’ve missed all of it, I’ve missed his kiss, I’ve missed his light touches, I’ve missed his skin. Having him so close to touch yet not close enough has burned me, it’s burned him too. His hands can’t find a place to rest, they’re roaming and leaving heat in their wake. Everywhere he touches, my skin burns but I don’t want him to stop. My fingers tangle in his hair and he continues to roam, acting like he doesn’t know every curve of my body like I know his. He knows his way around and his lips on mine makes me feel like I couldn’t want anyone other than him. His kiss is so familiar, yet every kiss he steals feels new, like I’m stealing his kisses in backstage bathrooms again, still trying to get used to him melting into my touch. It makes me feel a little silly, like a pining teenage girl because it’s just Ryan. But then again, it’s  _Ryan_ , Ryan all over me, under my skin. He’s overwhelming but I’ll let him in. I think I always will. 

 

 

      I don’t know how long we’ve laid here, tangled into each other, his skin pressed against mine under the sheets of my bed. The cabins bed felt too big without him, without his chest pressed against my back. It’s felt like complete torture. My room and sheets smell faintly of smoke, a draft coming through the open windows, all results of my chain-smoking habit I picked up. I started smoking to keep myself occupied on the nights where I’d miss him, to keep myself from crawling into his bed with him. Drop one addiction for another, right? Smoke would trail out of the windows, linger in the air around me, tracing over the shapes that could’ve been him lying next to me. Reminding me that this could’ve been our paradise, an island of calm in the chaos. That it could’ve been waking up next to him, exchanging lazy kisses as the sunlight leaks through the curtains from the balcony. But that doesn’t matter now because he’s mine, if only for this fleeting moment. Now my sheets smell of desperate kisses, lost lovers, and him, all I can smell is him on my sheets as we lay in our afterglow. His forehead is pressed against my back and his damp hair sticks to my skin, his fingers dancing over the curves of my ribs, his touch setting my skin ablaze. 

     “Hey.” Brendon’s warm breath tickles my back as he speaks, causing me to shiver. He traces the heat with his lips, pressing a soft kiss into my shoulder. I turn slowly, facing his smiling face and he moves closer to me and we meet somewhere in the middle. My leg has pushed its way between his and I feel his groan against my mouth, his lips only inches from mine.

“Sorry.” I whisper, tracing the shape of his top lip with my eyes, taking in the details of him. He pushes against my leg and groans softly again, the noise going straight through my bones. I fist his hair and kiss him hard, pushing him onto his back. He bites down on my lip as I shift on top of him, a whimper escaping him as I roll my hips over his and I take the opportunity to slip my tongue into his mouth. His tongue rolls over mine in a dirty kiss, his hands roaming over my shoulders, down my spine, and resting on my lower back. His kisses are dirty, and he groans in frustration, pushing down on my lower back to get some kind of friction. I pull away from his lips with a dirty smack,

“What’d you need?” I smirk and he whines underneath me, pushing harder on my hips. I reach under his arms and push them above his head and he actually fucking  _moans_.  _Jesus_.

“It’s not important  _now_.” He whines and I shake my head, lifting my hips further from his. “Come on, Ryan!” he groans, pushing his head into the pillow and bucks his hips up, trying to reach mine.

“I guess if you won’t tell me...” I trail off and start to move off of him, keeping my grip on his arms.

“Wait!” he writhes beneath me and tries to get his hands free as I laugh at how cute he is, his hair a mess and his cheeks and lips flushed.

“I have weed, I was gonna share but you’re being a dick.” he pouts, and I slide my hands down his arms, sitting back on my knees.

“I am not!” I try to act as offended as I can, but he grabs onto my arms and flips us over.

“Yeah you are.” He tries to be serious but his expression breaks into something desperate. “Please, Ryan.” he whines, sounding as desperate as he looks and kisses down my jaw, now rolling his hips down into mine. I moan softly and run my fingers through his hair as he makes his way over my throat with his lips.

“Fine.” I rasp, trying to sound annoyed but his tongue is tracing over my adam’s apple and it’s hard. I feel him smirk against my skin so I tug a little at his hair, but he takes it as a cue to start sucking hickeys into my neck and air leaves my lungs.

This boy is going to be the death of me.


	10. The Morning After

_“I_ _fucking_   _h_ _ate you. You broke_ _my_ _heart,_ _you_   _asshole.”_

 _The tears won’t stop, rolling hot down my cheeks as I clutch onto Ryan. I don’t hate him, even if I really want to, I’m just trying to convince myself I do. Hating him will hurt less than loving him. He smells like him and stale_ _alcohol from the party, but like him_ _nonetheless_ _. He doesn’t smell like_  c _heap perfume like I feared, it’s just him. I breathe him in through sobs because I don’t think I’ll be able to have him this close again. I’m still trying to hate him._  

 

     The shrill ring on my phone pulls me out of my deep sleep, splitting straight through my skull. I groan and roll over, feeling clammy underneath my comforter, yet not sweating. I grab my phone from the nightstand, answering the call without even looking at who was calling.

“Hello?” I grunt and a laugh crackles over the phone.

“Hey, man, where’d you go last night? I got worried!” Spencer sounds completely chipper and it makes my head pound.

“I, uh, kind of got fucked up.” I try to recall how I got home, piecing together hazy pieces of last night as Spencer babbles over the phone. I remember dancing and having a shit ton of beer and- oh. Oh fuck.

“Hey, Bren? You still there?” Spencer sounds concerned and I breathe out shakily. “Bren?” he asks again, with more urgency.

“Spence. I fucked up.” I stare ahead of me, trying to put together the memories of Ryan.

“What the hell did you do? I’m coming over there.” He hangs up before I can speak and I sit in my bed, a headache pounding through my veins and the nausea setting in. I hold my head and swing my legs off of the bed, catching sight of my boots on the floor next to my bed. I remember Ryan kneeling in front of me, untying them and sliding them off of my feet and a wave of nausea hits me. I see the Advil on my side table and I hazily remember Ryan sifting through my bathroom cabinets, I reach for the glass of water and take the Advil. I look down at myself, realizing I’m fully clothed and breathe a sigh of relief. At least I wasn’t that fucking stupid. I stare at the floor, trying to push through the pounding in my skull to pull more memories but all I’m remembering is his face, leaning into him in the cab. I hear the front door open, but I don’t move, listening to Spencer banging through my apartment. He appears in my doorway, a piece of paper clutched in his hands.

“Bren?” he asks gently, and I shift slowly to face him, pulling my legs back onto my bed.

“What’s that?” I ask, nodding towards the paper and he looks confused as he sits at the end of my bed, handing to me. 

 

     I take the paper from him, reading over the familiar scrawl:   
_hope you don’t feel too bad in the morning. wish we could’ve stayed in touch._  

 _-Ryan_  

     “The same Ryan?” Spencer asks quietly and I nod, staring at the note. Scenes flash through my mind, me sobbing and clutching onto Ryan, Ryan pulling me by my hips- God.

“I need a pen.” I whisper, looking up at the way Spencer is studying me. He scrambles up, running out and down my hallway. I need to write this before the words fade off with my hangover and I forget the way Ryan said them standing in my kitchen. Spencer comes back and throws me the pen, and I rush the words out before they run from me.  _I was scared. I was afraid of how you made me feel, I was afraid of losing you-_ The rest of the sentence disappears. I throw the pen in frustration but continue to stare down at the paper.

“What is it?” Spencer asks and I forgot he was even here. I look up with blurry vision and hand him the paper, crumbled at the edges where I was clutching it so hard. I hear him sigh deeply and I wipe furiously at my eyes, willing the tears to go back to hell where they came from.

“Do you think he meant it?” I murmur, and he hands the note back to me, sighing again.

“He did.” I know Spencer will give me the truth.

“Can we go back to that coffee shop?” I ask and he raises his eyebrows at me. 

 

     The mug burns my hands, but I curl my fingers around it anyways, ducking my head to avoid the sunlight streaming through the windows. Spencer stares at me as I sip my coffee, the note laid out on the table in front of us.

“How do you know he meant it?” I finally ask, staring into my coffee. Spencer exhales and taps his fingers over the tabletop until I look up at him expectantly.

“He told me, long time ago. He grabbed me one night after a show and asked me if you were in love with him.” He looks pensive as he explains, fingers fidgeting at his own mug.

“What did you tell him?” my voice is barely a whisper and I clear my throat, reaching for a napkin. “I told him yes. We could all see it.” He sighs, taking a sip of his coffee and I start tearing off the corners of the napkin, rolling the scraps between my fingers. He continues,

“But anyways, he didn’t believe me. He freaked the fuck out, telling me he thinks he’d fallen in love with you and he was crying- all that shit. Told me he was going to fuck everything up, nothing was gonna work out and he just couldn’t deal with it.” I stare into my coffee, watching it get cold as I neglect it for the napkin rolled between my fingers. “He honestly can’t handle his feelings well, Bren. You know that.” Spencer goes back to his coffee and I’m more confused than when I woke up this morning.

“Why was he so freaked? Am I that fucking bad?” I continue ripping apart the napkin, making a mess of the table.

“No, Bren, it’s not you. Ryan is just so fucking complicated, I barely understand him, and I’ve known him forever. Feeling aren’t his strong suit.” I look up at Spencer and he smiles absently at me.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I study his expression, searching for something to give away what he hasn’t told me.

“I’ve told you everything I know.” He shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee and I squint at him.

“Okay...so what do you think? Not what you know.” He smiles at me over his mug and sets it back on the table.

“I think that you’re the first person that really got under Ryan’s skin, he wasn’t able to shake off what he felt for you. It freaked him out. Also, you’re the first guy he’s ever really been with and he feels  _that_  deeply about you.” I just stare and Spencer shrugs again, “I said I barely understand him, but I’m not clueless. I understand more of him than he needs to know.” Spencer goes back to sipping his coffee and I can’t think between my fading headache and all this new information.

“What do I do now?” I ask, pushing the shreds of napkin on the table into a pile.

“That’s up to you, dude.” he pushes some of the shreds into my pile and I smile at him.

Thank God for Spencer Smith.


	11. Habits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to change the title of this story because the original title really only made sense with the first chapter. I wrote the first chapter and didn't plan on building this into what it is, so I felt the story needed a change! Also, this is just a short little chapter :)

   It takes him two weeks. Two weeks of complete and absolute fucking torture, waiting by my phone for  _something_. Jon came by to check on me the day after New Years and I ended up crying in front of his feet on my living room floor, Jon rubbing my back from his spot on the couch. I haven’t been able to stop the constant replay of that night in my head and it’s starting to drive me insane, it’s taken me everything to not call him first. The only time I’ve left my house is to buy cartons of cigarettes from the drugstore down the road, picking back up my old habits in order to keep myself busy. I lay flat on my bed, laughing as I light the cigarette dangling from my lips because the last time I smoked this much was to keep myself from crawling into his bed and here I am again, using it to keep myself away from him. Smoke swirls from the end of the cigarette, joining the rest of the smoke hovering in the air, remnant of the stubs lying in my almost full ashtray. I feel my phone buzz somewhere in my tangle of sheets and I nearly jump out of my skin, scrambling up to dig for it. I breathe in smoke, praying to God it isn’t Jon again, telling me to stop moping around and my fingers curl around cold metal. I turn it on, the screen illuminating my face with a single notification:  _1 unread text from Bren_  

     My heart crawls up my throat, the smoke suddenly making me feel queasy and I stub the cigarette out on the ashtray. Two whole weeks. I unlock my phone and open the notification 

 _srry_   _abt_ _new years_  

     Something so simple causes my pulse to quicken and I don’t know what to say. I start to type when another text bubble appears beneath the first 

 _i_   _dnt_   _rlly_ _remember most of it so_ s _rry_  a _bt_   _that_  

     I laugh to myself, trying to regulate my breathing. Of course he doesn’t. I quickly type out a response and send it before I overthink something so stupidly simple 

 _its_ _okay_  

     He answers almost immediately, and my pulse picks up again. My eyes scan the text over and over again 

 _let me make it up to u. coffee_   _tmrrw_ _@ 3?_  

     I can’t believe what I’m reading. I broke this boy's heart, he shouldn’t want a thing to do with me, and yet he’s asking me for coffee. I hold my breath as I send my response 

 _sounds good. send me the address in the morning. see you soon._  

     It’s been months, minus the New Year's incident, since I’ve spoken to him, let alone seen him and we’re going for coffee like old friends. I guess we’re old friends. Except, we’re really not. I’ve had him sprawled out on my bed with kiss swollen lips and his hands snaking under my waistband, I’ve had him pressed too close to just be my friend when we danced, I’ve had his fingers curling into mine underneath tables, I’ve had him naked, pressed against my back when we’d wake up together, we’re not old friends. What we are is old lovers, past lovers, lost lovers. We were lovers. Now we’re going to get coffee like we weren’t, like I didn’t confess my love for him in his kitchen, hoping he’d forget it because he was so wasted. I dig in the sheets with shaking hands until I find my almost empty carton of cigarettes. Two weeks. I set the cigarette between my lips and light it, breathing the smoke deep into my lungs. If I lay back, I can still feel his warmth pressed into my side, reaching for the cigarette between my lips. It’s just coffee. How could we possibly fuck that up? A stupid question really, we’d find a way. Maybe this time we’ll be different. I laugh to myself about how absurd that is because we tried so many different times to let each other go but we’d always end up in each other's beds, whispering between kisses about how much we missed each other. It’s been months this time around, maybe we can actually go our separate ways. The thought makes my stomach churn and I realize I don’t really want to let him go. I take another deep drag, letting the smoke burn my throat. I’m so fucked.


	12. Coffee & Cigarettes

     This has to be my worst idea by far. I’ve avoided seeing Ryan for months only to run into him at a party drunk off my ass, and now I’m offering coffee? Cold air sinks through the collar of my coat causing the cold to seep into my bones as I walk down the street, twisting my hands in my pockets. He probably didn’t even show up. Somehow the thought of him not showing up makes me feel worse than the idea of seeing him sober. My hair falls into my eyes as the wind pushes against me and I’m starting to agree with the wind, maybe I should just go back home. I turn the corner to the coffee shop and the familiar lanky figure startles me so much I almost turn and run back down the sidewalk. So maybe he did show up. Ryan is leaning against the glass window that covers most of the café's wall, one of his boots resting against the ledge beneath it. His hair curls wildly over his eyes from the wind and he has one hand shoved in his coat pocket, the other clutching a cigarette between his thin fingers. I feel like I can’t breathe but I take in a breath anyways, making my way towards him. 

“I thought you quit?” I ask, masking the shaking in my voice the best I can. He jumps, almost dropping the cigarette and turns towards me, eyes wide beneath the mess of his hair. I never remember it being this curly and unruly, or maybe Ryan never allowed it to. 

“Old habits die hard.” He shrugs looking at my feet and making his way up to my eyes, smoke escaping his lips as he speaks. He turns his head away from me, taking another drag of the cigarette before dropping it onto the sidewalk and stepping on it. I notice the cigarette butts littering the ground around where he was standing, and I wonder how long he’s been here as I send him a small smile. 

“I guess.” I shrug in response and head towards the door, knowing Ryan is close behind me. The waitress sends me a sympathetic smile as I walk towards a booth in the back and I cringe. I was hoping they’d forget what happened the first time Spencer brought me here, but I guess the tears weren’t something easy to ignore. I push the thoughts away and sit in the vinyl booth, watching Ryan slide into the seat across from me with his hands still shoved into his pockets. This still feels like a bad idea. We sit there for a moment, Ryan with his head down and me just staring at him, wondering if this is the same Ryan I loved sitting in front of me. Right now, I’m doubting it really is. The man sitting in front of me has wild, curly hair that falls over his ears and almost touches the collar of his black coat, his eyes are moving to look anywhere but me, and he smells faintly of cigarette smoke and cologne. But when he looks up, I finally get what I’ve been missing for months. His lips curl up into a shy, lopsided smile, that’s still so bright it reaches his eyes and it’s mine. It’s my smile, my Brendon reserved smile and he’s my Ryan all over again. 

“So. Hey.” His smile is contagious, and a similar grin takes over my face as I resist the urge to reach over the table and grab for his hands.    
“Hey.” Instead, I reach for the napkins and start tearing at the corners.  

“I’m sorry about New Year's.” I laugh as much as I can, my face heating in embarrassment and I focus on the napkin instead of Ryan’s eyes. He starts to speak but a waitress comes over to take our order, I don’t know if I’m grateful or annoyed. 

“What can I get you two this afternoon?” The waitress is pretty, with strawberry blonde hair that falls in curls over her shoulders and bright, green eyes that reflect her smile. 

“Hi, we’ll just get a Chai latte and mint tea. Please.” Ryan orders before I have the chance and smiles up at the waitress who’s scribbling in her notebook, but it’s a different smile, not mine. She smiles back at him and rushes off to put in our orders, and I just sit there gaping at him. 

“Don’t stress New Years. It wasn’t a big deal to take you home.” He shrugs, his eyes set on a spot on the table and I continue to stare. I didn’t think he payed enough attention to remember my coffee order, let alone after months of separation. 

“I didn’t know you drank tea.” I say stupidly, that sentence being the only words I could form at the moment. He laughs, pushing curls off of his forehead, 

“It’s a new thing.” He grins and I smile again. “I hope your coffee order’s still the same.” He adds on and I nod, still slightly confused. 

“Can I ask why you took me home on New Year’s?” I blurt out, not able to keep skating around the reason I brought him here. He looks up at me with raised eyebrows and I feel my face flush, putting my focus back into tearing my napkin. 

“I mean, I was worried. You told me you didn’t know where Spencer was, and I wasn’t just gonna leave you with no way home. Plus, you were pretty drunk.” He laughs, causing a small laugh to make its way up my throat and soon we’re both just laughing at each other. I look up at him between giggles to catch the way he looks because somewhere in me I feel like I won’t get to see it again, and I remember what’s sitting folded in my coat pocket. The waitress comes back with our drinks as I dig for the note, Ryan watching me as he sips from the mug she’d set in front of him. I don’t know what to say so I just unfold the note and set it on the table between us, taking a sip from my coffee. He doesn’t look surprised as he reads over the note but the words I’d scribbled in the corner catch his eye and his eyebrows disappear beneath his hair. He takes another sip from his mug as I sit, tapping my fingers against the side of my own mug and he sets his tea back down on the table. 

“You remembered that, huh?” He chuckles almost nervously, his fingers playing with something I can’t see beneath the table. I nod slowly. 

“I don’t remember the rest,” I whisper, fixing my eyes on a spot near the edge of his cheek, on a lone curl flipping outwards. “I was hoping that you’d tell me.” I feel almost sad as I say the words and I don’t quite understand why. 

“Yeah.” Ryan speaks and I didn’t actually expect him to tell me. “Yeah, okay.” As he says this he stands and walks away from our booth, leaving me with a cup of coffee I don’t want and a false sense of hope. Tears prickle in my eyes and I force them back, still staring at the spot where Ryans curl had been moments before. I shouldn’t have expected any different from the man who broke my heart. He probably didn’t expect me to remember his confession after I’d sobered up anyways. When I finally decide I should leave and pay for the drinks, Ryan slides back into the booth and reaches for a napkin. 

“What...?” I ask, completely confused as he ignores me and scribbles on the napkin, hunched over it so I can’t see what he’s writing. He doesn’t respond, only folds the napkin in half and sets the pen he somehow got onto the table, next to his mug. He extends the folded note towards me and I take it. 

“There. That’s all of what I said.” He sighs, staring anxiously at me and I pocket the napkin.  

“I’ll read it when I get home. If that’s okay.” I see his shoulders relax and he nods, a small, almost unnoticeable smile appearing on his lips. 

“Yeah. I’m gonna go have a cigarette, if you don’t mind.” I nod and motion him towards the door, watching his back as he walks through the crowd of tables. I hastily reach into my pocket and pull out the carefully folded napkin, my heart threatening to pound through my chest. In smudged ink, a confession spoken to a drunken version of me is written across the napkin: 

 _“I was afraid of how you made me feel, I was afraid of losing you, ruining us. I was falling in love with you, so I thought it would hurt less to lose you then instead of later. I was wrong. I was really,_ _really wrong.”_  

     I breathe deeply, wiping the moisture collecting at the corners of my eyes and fold the note back as neatly as he had, putting it back into my pocket. I would’ve killed to hear that for about four years and now it feels like it’s too late. I push myself out of the booth, focusing on the smoke rising in the air outside from Ryans spot on the sidewalk. I approach our waitress standing behind the counter, smiling forcefully. 

“How much was the check?” I begin to dig for my wallet, but she only shakes her head and giggles. 

“Your friend already payed. Don’t worry about it.” I raise my eyebrows at her and she smiles back at me, flipping her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulders. 

“Okay. Have a good day, then.” I return her smile and walk out of the door, the cold air and the smell of cigarette smoke hitting me immediately. I turn to Ryan, watching him tuck his carton and lighter back into his coat pocket, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. Our eyes meet and the corners of his mouth curl upwards around the cigarette as I step towards him, into his space. 

“I’ve missed you, y’know.” He says quickly, my heart clenching at the familiar words, this time not being whispered hotly against my lips. This time I don’t lean forward to kiss him. 

“If that matters, anyway.’’ He laughs almost bitterly, breathing in the drag of his cigarette deeply, his fingers holding it tightly. I reach forward without thinking, taking the cigarette from him. 

“Of course it matters.” My words come out barely above a whisper as I lift the cigarette to my lips, ignoring Ryans unreadable stare. I breathe out smoke and hand it back to Ryan, leaning against the wall next to him. We stand in silence, passing it between us until it’s almost burnt out and Ryan puts it out under his shoe. 

“Thank you for taking me for coffee.” Ryan speaks first, pushing off of the wall and throwing a small smile my way. 

“Well it’s nothing compared to you having to drag my drunk ass home.” I laugh and we fall into step next to each other, walking around the side of the building. I spot Ryans car almost immediately and I realize that this may be the last time we ever actually talk. I mean, we’ve reconnected, closed our old wounds, what excuse will we be able to pull up to talk again? We don’t hug or anything like that before Ryan gets into his car, we only exchange small smiles and waves. We’re not the type for emotional goodbyes, not after the last one. I start to turn but Ryan hasn’t closed his door yet. 

“You read the note already, didn’t you?” His tone is even when he speaks and I’m only halfway turned. I nod, meeting his eyes. He gives me a sad smile, averting his eyes to the concrete of the parking lot. He swallows and looks back up, reaching for the handle of his door. 

“See you around then.” He nods one last time, shutting the door. I don’t move and he doesn’t check his rearview mirror as he drives away. Okay, maybe we haven’t closed all of our old wounds.


	13. You Can't Predict The End

     I don’t drive home immediately after I leave Brendon in the parking lot of the coffee shop, I just drive. I throw my phone behind me once I’ve pulled out of the parking lot and reach blindly for my cigarettes thrown in my passenger seat. I have to pull over because I’m shaking too hard to light the cigarette between my lips and I don’t want to fucking cry. I don’t want to cry but it feels like this is the end. I pull back onto the road, driving to nowhere. I don’t bother to turn on the radio and I chain smoke and drive in silence. I smoke until every cigarette carton I could find in my car is empty and my throat feels raw when I finally realize where I’m driving to.

Jon opens the door after four knocks.

“Dude, you smell like an ashtray.” His eyebrows knit in concern and he just stands holding the door open, waiting for me to say something. My throat hurts and I feel like I can’t give him the answer he wants. I open my mouth to speak and close it a second after, swallowing hard. Tears spill down my cheeks without warning and I choke down a miserable sob.

“Fuck, Ryan?” Jon reaches out for me, grabbing me and pulling me into his house. We don’t make it very far when my legs give out and I fall into Jon, and he just grabs onto me as we sink to our knees. I clutch desperately onto the back of his shirt, sobbing and shaking against his chest. I breathe in hard for air and just end up gasping and crying as I cave into myself. 

“Ryan, Ryan, just breathe.” Jon rubs my back and tries to comfort me, trying to pull me to sit up. I hear Jon kick the front door closed and then he pulls me back into him, rubbing my back as I have a breakdown in Jon Walkers lap.

“God, I think it’s over.” I choke out before the sobs continue and I start gasping again, trying to stop. Jon squeezes me slightly and I wipe desperately at my cheeks.

“Ryan, breathe. What happened?” Jon turns me to look at him as I gasp out a few words even I can’t understand. 

“Okay, okay, listen, you need to breathe. Just cry until you can’t and then we can talk. It’s okay, I’m not leaving. It’s gonna be okay.” Jon soothes and I cough hard, hunching in on myself because I can’t breathe. We sit on the floor, me in Jons lap, almost completely limp in his grip and he just lets me cry for what feels like an hour. When I finally feel like I’m going to pass out from crying, I breathe in deep and push back, sitting on the floor in front of Jon.

“I’m acting like a bitch.” I say quietly and Jon smacks my leg.

“No, you’re not. Jesus, you completely broke down, Ryan. Something is obviously very important for you to be so upset.” I look up and Jon looks so concerned and shocked at the same time, so I look back down.

“Brendon.” I whisper and Jon sighs but says nothing, so I continue.

“Essentially, I confessed my heart to him while he was drunk on New Year’s and of course he remembers. So he invites me to get coffee and we kind of fixed it, I guess, but I had to re-confess to him and I just feel like it’s over. I feel like I’m never ever going to see him again.” I sigh and look back up to Jon.

“And I’m in love with him Jon. I can’t let go of him, I’m so in love with him and I’m not ready to let him go yet. I’m not the same person without him. I don’t even feel like a person. I don’t want to lose him all over again. I ruined everything and now he’s gone.” 

Lonely tears slip down my cheeks, but it isn’t like it was before. Jon only nods and motions me to stand up.

“Go wash your face and I’ll get us something to drink so we can talk. It’s going to be okay, Ryan.” Jon squeezes my shoulder and I smile weakly at him.

“I don’t know what I would do without you, Jon.” I say it as I think it, and I mean it. Jon just smiles back at me.

     I leave Jon’s place as it starts to get dark. Jon always makes everything a little less shit and I couldn’t ever thank him as much as he deserves it. Cassie came home and joined us on the couch and the both of them are too good for me, I swear. I drive home with the windows down to air out the smell of smoke and the radio on so I don’t sink back into a dark hole. It’s dark by the time I pull up to my apartment building and I feel like I could pass out right where I’m sitting. As I start up the stairs to my place, I can see something taped to my door. I step up to the door and a napkin is folded neatly and taped over the peephole of my door.

“What the fuck?” I whisper to myself as I reach forward and pull it off, seeing black ink faded under the folds. I unfold it to black, smudged scrawl over the napkin:

_tried knocking. meet me in front_ _my_ _place tomorrow at 12? have some things I forgot to say._

_-Bren_

There’s some ink smudged and crossed out at the bottom of the napkin and I can barely make out the curves of what looks like the word _love_ beneath the mess of black ink. I stare at the words written down before I fold it back and slip it into my pocket. I don’t know what the fuck is going on anymore. I unlock the door to my apartment and step inside, looking at the mess I’m surrounded by. Why his place? What does he have to say?    
I pick up the full ashtray on my coffee table and dump it into the trashcan, picking up trash littered on my way there. Maybe this is the way it ends. The napkin feels like it’s burning a hole in my pocket as I ignore it and clean up my apartment. I don’t fully understand what’s going to happen until I’m sitting at the edge of my bed. I pray to whatever’s above that this won’t be the end.


	14. We'll Be Good

 

My eyelids feel heavy from lack of sleep as I sit on the edge of my couch, my elbows resting against my knees. After sticking that note to Ryans door, I spent all night alternating between trying to sleep and trying to explain to him how I felt. I feel silly waiting for Ryan to show up, with a sinking feeling that I might just wait forever. This may be my last chance, our last chance to fix this. There may never be another time for us to put aside our pride and our grudges and make this work. I won’t let this slip by me, he may not be sure but I sure as hell am. I know who I want and I know I will do anything not to lose him again. My phone buzzes on the coffee table, a notification lighting the screen:   
_1 unread text from Ryan_  

I stare at the screen for a moment before I actually open his message:

 _I’m outside_  

My fingers fly over the screen as I quickly send out the text, anticipation building in my chest. 

 _come upstairs_  

My hands begin to shake almost unnoticeably as I drum my fingers over my thighs, standing up and crossing my living room, stopping in front of my door. It feels like an eternity before a soft knock sounds from behind it and I will myself to hesitate before stepping forward and swinging the door open. The smell of Ryans cologne and cigarette smoke drifts through my apartment as I open the door, meeting a tired looking Ryan. His hair isn’t as wild as the last time I saw him and he’s dressed nice, a simple blue button up tucked into his black jeans, the sleeves rolled to his elbows.  

“You look tired.” I say and I curse myself for being so stupid as I step back to let him through the doorway. He laughs and smiles at his shoes, walking into my apartment. 

“I didn’t sleep very good.” He shrugs, slipping his hands into his front pockets. 

“Sorry to hear that.” I speak quietly and a short laugh escapes him. I look up. 

“You’ve never been good at small talk.” He smiles and I nod. “So, what’s up?” 

I sigh and set my shoulders, ready to finally tell him how I feel but when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. I groan inwardly and dig into my back pocket for the neatly folded paper with my words scribbled all over it. When I wrote down how I felt, I knew I wouldn’t be able to say it, but I figured it would be worth a try. My fingers curls around a pointed corner and I slip the note out, holding it out between Ryan and me. He raises his eyebrows at me, and I send him a sheepish smile, his fingers hovering in the air before he gently slips the paper out of my fingers. I hold my breath as he unfolds the paper, his eyes flicking over the words I poured my heart into for hours last night. Now this feels like a stupid idea, with the note clutched in his thin fingers. But now, it’s too late to take it back. Now he’s reading the words I crumbled and replaced twenty times over last night, now he’s reading the words I wrote only for his eyes. Now, he’s reading my confession. I watch as his eyes stop at the bottom of the page, as he neatly folds the paper back into its tiny square and I let out the air I’d been holding. 

“I,” I start, and his eyes lift to mine, making me feel like I just got kicked in the chest. 

“I just, I’m not as good with words as you but it translated better on paper.” He doesn’t move, he doesn’t say anything. I can feel the blood pulsing under the pulse points in my wrists, I can feel the nerves making my throat dry. 

“I. I mean, if this isn’t, y’know, what you want, it’s okay. I just feel like, we need to be honest with each other and-”   
“God, Brendon, shut up.” Ryans soft voice cuts through mine and heat rushes to my cheeks. I feel like a teenage girl, not a twenty-two year old grown ass man.  

Ryan doesn’t say anything else, just steps forward, setting his hands on my cheeks and leaning down to close the space between our lips. His hands are cold against my heat flushed cheeks and my fingers wind into his curls, clutching onto him. He kisses me with a purpose, it’s sweet and he tastes like mint and cigarette smoke. For some reason, I pull away first.  

“So, does this mean like, you want give this a real shot or-”   
He laughs at me, one hand slipping down and over the back of my neck. 

“Yes, Brendon. I want to give this like, a real shot.” He mocks me but I only clutch onto him harder because this time it isn’t a goodbye. The tears slipping down my cheeks aren’t from how I know this is the end, but from knowing that this time, it’s real and it’s just us. His thumbs rub over the streaks left by the scattered tears and he presses soft kisses beneath my eyes. 

“I promise I’ll do it right this time.” He whispers and I nod, kissing him quickly before resting my forehead against his shoulder.  

“Can we take a nap?” I ask, feeling his shoulder shake from his quiet laughter. 

“Yeah, sure.” I hold onto his hands and pull him towards my bedroom, holding on tight to make up for the time we lost. The hallway seems to fill with light from his return, the place I call home feeling more like one since Ryan’s return. It doesn’t feel as empty now. 

We don’t bother to change or remove any clothes, collapsing onto my bed in a tangle of limbs and messy, lazy kisses. I drape myself over Ryan, settling against him and closing my eyes. His fingers trace over my spine, over my ribcage, running over the hemline of my shirt and slipping beneath, his cold fingertips dancing over warm skin. I sigh, breathing him in. He smells like him, not like someone else’s perfume and it’s all I’ve ever wanted. His fingers run over my bare skin as I fall asleep against him, thinking that this time, we’ll be good. 

 


	15. Epilogue

 

When I wake up, light streams in brokenly from the windows, some curtains closed, others cracked, some left to reveal the almost transparent curtains beneath the decorative ones. I groan, turning my face away and meeting a half unbuttoned, red button-down shirt with unruly curls peeking from the collar. Lifting my eyes, I’m faced with a sleeping Ryan pressed against me and the back of the couch, his hands snaked beneath my shirt and holding onto my waist. Ryan’s touchy, I’ve come to find out. I knew he was before, but only to some extent, and now that he’s not hiding, he always needs to be touching bare skin. Whether that be my back, my wrists, he finds a way. There’s a half-finished beer bottle rested against the wall behind us, accompanied by a toppled over red cup. 

“Hey,” I whisper, my breath fanning over his lips as I lean closer and he stirs.

“Hey.” I whisper again, gently pressing my lips against his and I feel him slide his hands over my back beneath my shirt, pulling me closer as he sleepily kisses back. I laugh against the press of his mouth, sliding my hands over the back of his neck as he begins to wake up and kiss me with more purpose. I pull away quickly, watching him lean forward to trace the kiss, eyes still closed, and I laugh again.

“Can I ask you a question?” I ask him and he nods, his bottom lip stuck out in protest of my ending the kiss and I lean forward to press a quick kiss against his pout.

“What are we doing on Jon Walker’s couch?” He just smiles at me.

“Because it’s New Years and Jon decided to throw the party. Welcome to 2011, baby.” I grin back at him and hear footsteps on the stairs.

“No, because I let you.” I hang my head over the edge of the couch, an upside-down Jon Walker greeting me with a stupid grin on his face. “I swear, you two can fall asleep anywhere. The party ended and we didn’t see you leave just to find you curled into my couch.”

“Sorry, Jon. Had to make up for last New Year’s. It was pretty shit.” Ryan sighs and I nod, wishing we’d spent the New Year together dancing instead of me drunk and crying in my kitchen.

“Fair enough. Now stop trying to fuck each other on my couch.” I sit up as Ryan throws a pillow at Jon and he dodges it, both of them laughing their heads off.

“Let us help you clean up.” I offer as Ryan sits up, starting to stand but Ryan grabs onto my wrist and pulls me back down to him. I land between his legs and he wraps his arms around me, kissing my cheek.

“Are you still drunk? What’s with all the PDA?” I laugh, twisting to get free of Ryan’s grip but he only holds me tighter.

“Nope. I’m making up for last New Year's.” He grins, kissing over my face and neck.

“Get a fucking room!” Jon yells from his kitchen, I can hear him grabbing trash bags from the cabinet.

Ryan finally stops and loosens his grip, but I don’t move, I only lean back into his chest.

“I love you.” He whispers against my ear. I turn my head to press a kiss to his lips.

“I love you too.” I whisper back and a trash bag flies into my lap.

“Come on lovebirds, time to clean.” Jon grins. Ryan and I grin back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! This was my first story and not one of my best but I have another in the works. Writing this gave some valuable experience to take into future stories and I had tons of fun making it. Thank you to anyone who read and gave feedback, as a first-time writer, it means everything. Happy (late) New Year!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time publishing my own writing, as well as my first time writing fanfiction. Please go easy on me! :)


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